


i am strong against everything

by atheniavenesia



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: (because of fear gas), Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Canon-Typical Violence, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Deserves Better, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29483130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheniavenesia/pseuds/atheniavenesia
Summary: Bound and in danger, Jason wakes in a white room.Across Gotham, Bruce watches it happen on a screen.History seems doomed to repeat itself.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 22
Kudos: 129





	i am strong against everything

**Author's Note:**

> There may be some mistakes. I enjoy the writing, I do not enjoy the editing. Enjoy.

Jason’s so used to being tied up that it doesn’t even phase him anymore. It basically defined his adolescent years, and he finds that it’s a lot like riding a bike. Stripped down to his domino and underwear? Must be a Tuesday.

First, wake up. His head hurts, but it’s more of an ache than anything else. Probably drugged, then. No matter how many times he's seen it on TV, it’s really hard to knock somebody out with blunt force trauma and not crack their skull open. He squints. Probably happened after he got that burger at Pauly’s. He sighs. He likes their food. Now he has to kill somebody for betraying him. Really, his work is never done.

Next, take in the surroundings. Bright lights, white walls. It looks like some sort of hospital. Abandoned, probably. It’s not like Gotham is hurting for condemned buildings. He tests the knots. Really good. He frowns. This is professional stuff. Deathstroke? Jason doesn’t really cross paths with him that often. It’s more Dick’s thing. Honestly, Jason's going to be pissed if he got dragged into somebody else’s villain’s plot. He’s got his own shit going on.

Start assessing for structural weaknesses in the chair. Bolted to the ground, steel reinforced joints. Oh, yeah: this isn’t amateur hour. He appreciates how soft it is, though. Nothing worse than fighting a horde of goons with his ass asleep. If he doesn’t smash it when he gets out of here, he might take it with him. He’s got a few safehouses that could use some comfortable furniture.

He’ll think about it later. Right now, he’s craning his neck to check behind him. Yeah, he’s alone. Also, they don’t have him near any walls. If this doesn’t scream ‘trap!’, he doesn’t know what will.

“Hello?” he calls. “Any assholes here?”

Might as well get to work annoying them. That’s how he handles most things. Irritate, then shoot. Sometimes the other way around. If Solomon Grundy’s on his side of town, he does both at the same time. With no gun on him, he’ll have to work extra hard at the first part.

He hears movement ahead of him. Sounds like a hallway, but there’s nothing there. The wall separates and slides away. Honestly, he’s impressed. Not very often he’s kidnapped by such technologically advanced lunatics. He’s very quickly disappointed.

“Scarecrow,” he greets. “You look like shit.”

The man in question just laughs. That’s creepier than anything his gas has managed. He looks like a skeleton from a B-rate horror film.

“Hello to you, too, Red Hood,” Scarecrow says. “It’s a pleasure.”

Jason laughs. “Not yet. It’ll be a pleasure when I get out of this chair and rip your head off your shoulders.”

Scarecrow ignores him. That’s never good. Villains tended to get dismissive when they thought they had the upper hand. Very just-you-wait-and-see. Jason’s usually in the clear when he can get them to lose their composure. This doesn’t bode well.

“So, let me guess,” Jason continues. “You’re going to use some gas? Maybe you’ll try to scare me? The options are endless, Crane.”

Scarecrow just shakes his head. “Such bravado.”

“Yeah, well it’s a hazard of the job,” Jason says. He gives a sharp smile. “Really, you’ve been doing this for years. How about you pick up a different hobby?”

“And what should that be?”

“Why don’t you try sucking my—”

Scarecrow breaks and hits him across the face. Alright, so he does have a limit. Jason lets his head hang like the hit had done more than redden the skin. The man’s a toothpick. He certainly isn’t a brawler. Now Bane! There’s somebody Jason might think twice about taunting.

Scarecrow grabs his hair and pulls him up. His eyes are sharp. He looks like he’s checking Jason for damage. Like Johnathan Crane was going to hurt him. No self-awareness, these people. But it does answer a question.

You don’t typically care about people you’re going to try to kill. What you do care about are hostages. Who’s Jason bait for? Red Hood isn’t exactly known for his impeccable reputation within the vigilante community. Especially not the vigilantes Scarecrow’s interested in.

Seemingly satisfied, he lets go of Jason. He also tries to take a step backwards. Really, what has Jason been doing that makes people think they can get that close to him? Something to think about later. He lunges forward as far as he can. His right shoulder, already prone to it from the grappling gun, dislocates. He uses it to get more distance.

He bites Scarecrow's arm. Hard. Thankfully, he’s one of the cleaner Rogues. Jason doesn’t even want to imagine what Killer Croc would taste like. He digs his teeth into the sleeve that’s keeping him from breaking skin. Scarecrow shouts. He hits Jason again. This time, he’s lucky enough to land it right on his ear. It makes him feel dizzy.

Fortunately, he’s got what he needed. A strip of Scarecrow’s sleeve tears away when they separate. Jason shouts and scrabbles to cover it. It ends up tucked under one of his bare feet. Scarecrow reels. He doesn’t have any business in this industry if he’s going to get that shaken-up by a little bite. He didn’t even draw blood.

Jason spits on the ground. Okay, he drew a little blood. Scarecrow's still got plenty more, though. Jason doesn’t know why he’s complaining.

“You disgusting vermin,” Scarecrow says. “Wretched little creature!”

Jason grins again. “Come on, that all you got?”

Scarecrow looks like he wants to do something else. Maybe start using that fear toxin he’s never without. Jason doesn’t get so lucky. Instead, Scarecrow goes still. These villains and their calm, it doesn’t bode well.

“Just what I’d expect from a Robin,” Scarecrow sneers.

Jason goes still. That… wasn’t what he thought was going to happen. He gets the scrap of fabric between his toes. If he gets Scarecrow close enough, he can wrap it around his throat. Won’t do much to get him out of his current situation, but it’ll certainly feel good.

“Get your eyes checked,” Jason says, trying for a distraction. “Or your brain. How about both. Might have to go out of town for that, though; I wouldn’t trust a psychiatrist in Gotham as far as I could throw them.”

Crane doesn’t rise to the bait. He gives Jason an even look. Thinking.

“Is every vigilante in this city tied to Batman?” he asks.

Jason slumps in his seat. His shoulder’s really starting to hurt, but it’s not too bad. Admittedly, his scale for pain is a little different than most.

“Not exactly,” Jason says. “Some of us are just here for the thrill of killing assholes like you.”

Again, Scarecrow doesn’t seem bothered. He walks in a slow circle around Jason. He doesn’t like not being able to see him, but he’s pretty sure Scarecrow’s not going to do anything. If he was going to kill him, he would have done it already. Besides, he’s not a killer. He’s another one of those freaks with a Batman obsession.

“We knew the Robins were changing,” Scarecrows says from behind him. He continues in his circle until he’s back in front of Jason. “We just didn’t know how often. Who they became.”

“Crane, stop wasting my time,” Jason says. He’s trying not to seem unsettled, but the last thing he needs is word getting out that he used to be Robin. Kind of hard to maintain a criminal empire when the whole city’s seen you in Underoos. “If you’re not going to kill me, you better start running because I’m going to rip you apart when I get out of here.”

Scarecrow lowers himself to meet Jason’s eyes. Still a bit too far away for him to do anything, but getting closer. As soon as he gets the chance, Jason’s going to ruin this guy.

“You’re the second one, aren’t you?” Scarecrow asks. “The corpse.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Getting high on your own supply? Zombies aren’t real.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Scarecrow says. “But I’m beginning to rethink that.”

“I just bet you are.”

Scarecrow turns around. “I wonder how long until you figure out who discovered your identity. What will that fear be like?”

The wall opens up and Scarecrow disappears. From what Jason can see, there’s a hallway out there. Dirtier than the room, the white closer to gray. So they repainted this one for him. He should be flattered.

He lets his head fall backwards. He’s still got the fabric tucked beneath his foot, and now he’s got to deal with this whole Robin situation. Who figured him out? He doesn’t like the places his head goes.

* * *

“Batman,” Alfred says. “Oracle has intercepted a troubling broadcast.”

Batman lands a heavy punch to the mugger’s chest. It winds the criminal enough that he staggers.

“Robin, restrain him,” he orders. “Penny-one, explain.”

Damian jumps to obey. Batman surveys their surroundings while Alfred speaks.

“It appears to have been an attempt to contact you directly, sir,” he says. “It’s Scarecrow. He has a hostage.”

“Where?” Batman growls.

“We find ourselves incapable of locating the source. Within Gotham, surely, but nothing beyond that.”

“Returning to the Cave now,” Batman says. “We need to know what he’s planning.”

“Yes, sir, that would be for the best,” Alfred says.

Batman makes note of the tremor in Alfred’s voice. Troubled? Something’s going on.

“Penny-one, what do you know?” he demands.

Alfred takes a breath. It’s shaky.

“It’s Red Hood. He’s the hostage.”

Batman closes the comm immediately. “Robin, finish. Now. We’re returning to the Cave.”

Damian looks curious, but he doesn’t ask any questions. It’s a nicety Batman hasn’t earned from his youngest son. They leave the criminal restrained in an alley and leave. Damian’s the one to call it in to the police. Batman has no desire to speak with them right now.

They tear through the streets in the Batmobile, taking corners at speeds that are extreme, even for him. Why Jason? He’s dangerous enough that most other criminals avoid him. If he was captured, then none of them are safe.

Batman focuses on his breathing, on his driving, until they’re back at the Cave. He launches himself from the car as soon as it slides to a halt. Even Damian, usually a step ahead of him, has to scramble to keep up.

“Alfred, bring up the broadcast,” he says.

He pulls the cowl back. His hair, damp with sweat, sticks straight up when he does. He doesn’t notice. He’s only got eyes for the way Alfred taps at the keyboard. The video comes up.

It’s live, is the first thing he sees. His eyes fix on Jason. He looks fine. Stripped to a domino and underwear, but nothing physically wrong with him. On second glace, he sees him favoring one of his shoulders. Batman traces the slope of it. Dislocated. Recent, too. No bruising that he can see.

With him is Scarecrow. There’s no audio, but he seems to be speaking. Jason laughs. Taunting. Batman’s so used to the sound that it hangs like a phantom around him. Scarecrow continues, though, and the smile grows strained.

Bruce doesn’t have a good enough angle to read Scarecrow’s lips. He focuses on Jason instead.

_Get your eyes checked. Or your brain._

More taunting. Bruce goes back to examining the surroundings. Nowhere that he recognizes, not immediately. He sees Jason’s foot fidget on the ground. He’s got something there. Resourceful.

“Why no audio?” he asks Alfred without looking away.

Alfred starts. He looks away from the screen and seems surprised to see Bruce. He shakes his head.

“I apologize. It was being fed through the cowl. I thought it best, considering the company.”

“Alfred, I’m no stranger to torture,” Damian says. It’s the first thing he’s said since they returned to the cave. “Grandfather often allowed me to watch interrogations.”

Bruce ignores that. For now. Compartmentalization. Alfred seems to as well. He presses another key and the audio funnels through the cave speakers.

“You’re the second one, aren’t you? The corpse.”

Bruce goes immediately, carefully still. There’s no mistaking what he’s talking about. Alfred looks away from the screen entirely.

“Getting high on your own supply? Zombies aren’t real,” Jason replies.

There’s not even a trace of hesitation in his voice. He’s a good liar. Bruce is grateful for that.

Zombie.

The word bounces around in his head. It disrupts the clean lines of his thoughts. He ignores that, too. Compartmentalize. No use in obsessing over it.

The three of them watch the rest of the exchange in silence. Bruce is thinking. He can’t stop thinking. Where is this? How did they figure it out? Who’s next?

Finally, Scarecrow leaves. He manages one last parting remark before he does.

“I wonder how long until you figure out who discovered your identity. What will that fear be like?”

Then he’s gone. He disappears somewhere off-screen. Jason leans back in his seat. Even alone, he doesn’t show any of what he’s thinking. The only change in his demeanor is letting the taunting expression fall from his face. He looks carefully blank now. Like Bruce.

Bruce makes sure his expression matches before he speaks. “All hands on deck. We’re looking for the Joker.”

* * *

Jason’s picking at the knots. He’s not making much progress with his right hand, but it’s better than nothing. Maybe. It keeps his busy. Idle hands, and all that. It’s not like he expects to make much progress, anyways.

He’s just killing time until Scarecrow make his appearance. Him, or the mysterious informant. Either would be fine with him right now. He’s got a little aggression he wouldn’t mind working through.

Fortunately, these people aren’t regular criminals. They’re _villains_. That means they’re incapable of going more than an hour without jacking themselves off about how smart they are. If they spent half as much time working as they did congratulating themselves, Bruce wouldn’t stand a chance. After all, there’s a reason Jason’s criminal empire hasn’t been dismantled yet.

The door slides open. Instead of Scarecrow, though, it’s somebody he hasn’t yet had the pleasure of meeting. He knows her by reputation, though. He makes a point to know Joker’s inner circle.

“Harley Quinn,” he greets. “Isn’t it?”

“That’s right!” she replies. “Aren’t you just the sweetest little thing?”

His stomach is somewhere in the center of the Earth. Harley’s here. She’s not exactly known for her independence. Where she is, the Joker’s sure to follow. He’s here, and Jason’s tied up. This is familiar. He starts working on knots in earnest. Don’t panic, keep busy.

“You know I’m going to kill you, right?” he asks.

If he keeps the conversation going, he might keep her from noticing his escape attempt. More than anything else, he needs to be out of this chair.

“Jeez, I take it back,” she says. She pulls a ghoulish frown. “All you Bats are the same, you know?”

“No,” he says. “I don’t. Not really sure where you’re getting this Robin theory from, but it’s got a few holes in it.”

She sticks her tongue out. “That’s not going to work on me.”

Jason can tell it’s not. Honestly, he can smell the crazy on her. Besides, Joker’s convincing when he wants to be. If Bruce would have just let him kill the motherfucker, he wouldn’t be in this situation. The idea burns like acid.

He changes tact. He can salvage this. He just needs to get out of this chair. Right now. Operate under the assumption his identity’s compromised.

“Listen, I’m not the one you need to worry about,” Jason offers. “Sure, I’ll to kill you, but at least that’ll be the end of it. Joker’s going to ruin you. You’re the punchline in a joke you don’t understand.”

She turns around and goes to the door. “Yeah, right. What do you know anyways?”

Jason’s fingers are starting to chafe from working the rope. He needs to stop her. His thoughts are as frantic as his fingers.

“It’s what he did to me!” Jason shouts.

He hadn’t meant to yell it, but it does the trick. She stops where she is, looks over her shoulder at him. She looks surprised.

Jason continues. “Listen, I was fifteen when he killed me. All the shit you’ve done, you don’t kill kids. I’d know. I make a point to know what that asshole’s up to: him and all his stooges. Joker isn’t like that. There’s no line he won’t cross.”

The knots are still stuck. He’s starting trembling. He’s selling it. His throat is tight. He lets it choke his words. He can see something glimmering in the back of her eyes. He’s making progress. A little more.

“He got my mom involved,” he says. His voice is wavering. “She betrayed me, sided with him. She died, too. It doesn’t matter who you are, he’ll get you. You’re not safe because you’re on his side. You’re a piece to keep in reserve until it’s funny to get rid of you.”

Harley hesitates a moment longer. Slowly, so slowly that it doesn’t seem like it’s happening at all, she turns away from the door.

“That’s not true,” she says. She sounds distant. Jason doesn’t think she’s talking to him. “No, he would have told me.”

“Harley,” Jason says. Earnest doesn’t come easy to him, but he tries it. He’s faking so many emotions that it’s hard to keep them straight. Fear and sadness bleed into his words. Isn’t he done with them? “Please, let me go. I won’t hurt you. I need to protect myself from him.”

The door slides open behind her. It’s the Joker. He looks decidedly unamused.

* * *

On screen, Jason goes rigid. The audio just barely picks up the sound of the door opening. They’ve made no progress in locating the Joker, but Bruce knows they’ve found him before the sound of his voice filters in.

“Can’t trust you with anything, can I?” Joker says. His voice is just off-screen, but only for a moment. He enters the frame and grabs Harley’s arm. “’Rough him up a little.’ Is that so hard?”

Harley shakes her head. It doesn’t look like a reply, but Joker takes it as one. There’s a dazed expression on her face when he throws her behind him. Bruce can hear her hitting the floor. Outside of the room, then.

Jason’s intent on her. His expression is earnest fear. Everything he’d said earlier sticks in Bruce’s head. Alfred is carefully looking away from everybody. He would have killed the Joker, Bruce knows. Everybody would have. Dick _had_. But that’s why he couldn’t allow it. They would have been like him — murderers.

His morals seem flimsy in the face this. He thinks of Jason’s voice wobbling earlier. A ploy to get Harley’s trust. He wouldn’t have been that vulnerable in front of a threat. He was trained by Bruce, no way he’d have shown weakness like that. It’s the same as when he’d first come back to town, the same as when he’d given Bruce that ultimatum. A ploy.

Bruce needs the cowl for this. He’s too close to Bruce Wayne right now, too far from Batman. This is a case like any other. Jason is a victim like any other. Inhale, exhale. Concentrate.

“Any closer to locating him?” he asks.

Oracle’s voice is subdued. “No. They’re shielding the signal. We need something that’s not being broadcasted by their satellites. Independent GPS signal, maybe. Jason’s got one in his helmet, but he needs to activate it.”

“You can’t override it?” he demands.

He sounds rougher than he means. He doesn’t apologize for it. No time.

“He’s locked me out of the system,” she answers. “I can get it, but I’d have to locate it using a third-party signal. That’ll take a while, and that’s not even counting how long I’d spend getting into the thing.”

Bruce wants to bark an order, but there’s nothing to do. He knows why Jason’s system is so isolated. He’d rather die than come to Bruce, than have Bruce know his location. He might.

Faintly, the door can be heard finally sliding shut. Without Harley there, Jason’s attention goes instead to the floor. His lips are moving, but the camera doesn’t pick up what he’s saying. He’s speaking fast enough that Bruce can’t even read his lips. Joker takes one of those cartoonishly large steps he’s so fond of.

“What was that, dead bird?” Joker asks. He sounds like he’s just barely holding back laughter. Back to mirth, it seems. “Can’t quite hear you. It’s rude to mumble, you know.”

Jason hunches his left shoulder. His lips falter for a moment, but he recovers quickly. Talking to himself, then.

Joker takes another step forward. “It’s no fun when you don’t play along. You remember that, don’t you?”

Jason curls up even further into himself. He shrinks himself as small as he can in his seat. Bruce sees the way his dislocated shoulder pulls at the movement.

“I said—” Joker begins.

The next part happens very quickly. It’s the sort of speed Jason had as Robin, the sort he doesn't show as Red Hood. He lunges forward, knocks his head against Joker’s. While he reels from it, Jason digs his teeth into Joker’s collar and jerks his head hard. Joker goes down, his head taking another blow when he hits the edge of the chair.

It’s a quick assault, one Bruce himself would be proud of. However, it’s all for nothing. It was done for the satisfaction of an attack. Jason’s still restrained in his seat and, despite his struggling, can’t do anything when Joker falls outside of his range. It’s the same hotheaded mistakes he’s always making.

He doesn’t seem aware of that. He tears at his bonds. This isn’t the tactical mind Bruce had just been watching. There’s something feral in the way he pulls at his bonds. His eyes, when the camera sees to them, are nearly fluorescent green.

“Kill you!” Jason shouts. It’s a roar. “Fucking kill you!”

He pulls again at his bonds. His dislocated shoulder is purpling under the assault. One of the ropes holding his ankle to the chair snaps. Beneath it, the skin is already raw. Jason takes the opportunity to lift his foot and land an off-balance stomp on the Joker’s arm.

This is about damage, about hurt. Now that his foot is free, Bruce can see what Jason had tucked beneath it. A strip of fabric. Effective in the right hands, in hands like Jason’s. He seems to have forgotten about it entirely in his rage. Bruce grimaces.

“Father,” Damian says. There’s exasperation in his voice. When Bruce looks, there’s concern beneath it. He’s worried. “What are you going to do?”

Bruce blinks. His mind feels dull. When his eyes focus, he forces his mind to follow suit.

“I’m…” he trails off.

The expression on Damian’s face makes it clear that Bruce isn’t doing anything to assure him. Quite the opposite, in fact. Bruce feels lost. He brings a hand to card through his hair. He’s almost surprised at the pull of scar tissue across his back.

It shouldn’t be there, he thinks. Not yet. He’s got a few years until Hush will give it to him. A few years until Red Hood appears in Gotham. He jolts back to himself. Jason’s situation is playing tricks on his mind. It’s setting him adrift in time. He tries to anchor himself in the ‘here,’ to keep away from the ‘then.’

“Out of the suit,” he orders. “Operations are done for the night. This doesn’t concern you any longer.”

Damian looks surprised. That it showed at all is testament to its depth. Or his comfort with Bruce. It’s not going to last. Never does.

“That’s ridiculous!” Damian says, apparently recovered. “You’re in no state to pursue a case of this magnitude—”

“Enough!”

Damian doesn’t flinch. Bruce can take that as a comfort. He ignores the way Damian goes still in the way he’d been trained to accept punishment in the League. He ignores it because he doesn’t want to be proven right. Not so soon.

“My orders are to be followed at all times,” he continues. “This”—he gestures at the screen without looking—“is what happens when you contradict me. Out. Now.”

Damian bows his head. He leaves stiffly. Hurried, if one knew what to look for. Bruce does, but he purposefully doesn’t watch. He turns away.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says.

His voice is tight. Controlled. It reminds Bruce of being a child, of acting out for the fun of it.

“What is it?” he asks.

He’s already looking at the screen again. On it, Jason is still thrashing about. Joker is starting to gather himself off the floor, looking around with a dazed smile. His teeth are pink with blood.

“Look at me,” Alfred says. “This instant.”

Bruce bites a refusal back. He doesn’t want to miss a moment of this. Still, he acquiesces. Alfred has a way about him.

When he does, he finds he regrets it. Alfred’s expression is thunderous. His eyes are narrowed beneath a drawn brow. Even the air around him seems charged. It’s the set of his lips that pierces Bruce most, though. It’s disappointment, more striking for it’s recent rarity.

“Master Jason is not a cautionary tale,” Alfred says slowly. He doesn’t seem to be doing it for gravity’s sake; each word is carefully shaped. It’s the sure sign of much more beneath the surface. Alfred’s holding back, and it’s hard enough Bruce can see the effort. “Don’t—he’s your child. Never again in my presence, do you understand? For your own sake, as well.”

Bruce brings his hands to rest on the edge of the computer. His shoulders bow without his input. The castigation is familiar. Alfred reigns him in when he goes too far. Always has.

This time, though, he’s doing it through his own grief. The shame Bruce feels is overwhelming. He squeezes his eyes tightly. He’s not going to cry, hasn’t in so long that the movement feels vestigial, but he does it anyways. Old habits.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says. “I—”

“I know, sir,” Alfred says. His voice is closer than it was earlier. Bruce really must be off-kilter if Alfred is managing to sneak around. “But take care you do, too.”

His hand, cool and assured, comes to rest on the nape of Bruce’s neck. Neither of them is particularly tactile, but that does nothing to stop the touch from puncturing some of the rapidly building tension. Bruce exhales.

He looks back up to the screen. He’s too close to this case. In the state he’s in, no plans are coming to mind. He watches Jason on screen. Spitting mad. So familiar, that face. Bruce thinks he knew Jason’s rage before he knew any other part of him.

“Alfred,” he says. He watches the acid green of Jason’s eyes through his domino. “Everybody back to base. Nobody patrols tonight.”

Alfred nods. Bruce only barely sees it from the corner of his vision.

“They won’t be pleased with that,” he replies.

He doesn’t sound unhappy. Approval, maybe.

“I’ll deal with that when the time comes,” Bruce says. “I want them alive to be angry.”

* * *

Jason is so small. He knows he’s not this small. He barely even remembers being this small. He’s walking through Crime Alley and looking up at the buildings. This is familiar.

That doesn’t make it welcome. He’s on the streets again. His body doesn’t hurt, but knows that it should. Snow is falling thick and heavy, and he knows that the cold hurts. He remembers that.

He remembers creeping into arcades, into bus station. Anywhere warm. Just for a second, until somebody noticed him. Then he’d have to leave. They didn’t chase him out, not always, but the alternative might have been worse. A kid his age, they would have tried to help him. Taken him somewhere he couldn’t have escaped.

So he’d thought. He wonders now if that was true. He comes to a familiar street. There, sleek and dangerous, is the car. Car? No, a different name. He doesn’t know it yet. He can’t. He’s taking the tires off, how would he know the name?

A figure appears. It’s green, in the shape of a giant. Jason’s furious. This is the Pit, then. He remembers that. That shape makes him mad, the Pit makes him madder. But the truth is hidden from him. He wonders if this is the Pit’s version of mercy. The figure is a mystery to him.

He runs from it. He runs across the spread of his mystery. He runs until the streets turn to the warm hallways of a house. Grand, ornate. He slows. This is familiar, too. He picks a door at random.

It’s a library. The shelves stretch on forever. He knows that can’t be right, but he doesn’t think that’s important. This isn’t real. It’s how he remembers things, not how they were. He remembers more books than he could ever hope to read. Than anybody could. He wonders when it lost that magic. If it ever did.

He’s sitting in an armchair. This is comfortable. Familiar. There’s a book tucked under the cushion he’s sitting on. He knows it before he even reaches for it. A memory. But where is this? He looks around him, but the windows look out onto nothingness. Burning green. He opens the book.

The words are scrambled. He knows what they’re supposed to be, knows what book it is, but the reality isn’t matching up. It’s jumbled, a sea of letters he only recognizes the curves of. There’s a rumbling sound.

It’s the groaning of a ship in a storm, of a house ready to collapse. It’s a voice. Deep and gravelly. And green. It resolves. It’s the words of the book. They’re right this time, arranged the way they should be.

It’s Bruce. He’s reading to Jason. The memory is green again, but he brushes it off. It’s a fog now, a mist that scatters at his touch. The armchair beneath him turns to his bed. He’s pinned beneath blankets and feverishly sweating. He has a cold. Sweating it out, Alfred had called it.

He looks around the room. Bruce is sitting at his bedside, hunched in the Batman suit. That makes it just before dawn.

This is Pit madness. He remembers how it works, the way it makes you work through the rage. If it was still his first days, he’d have had to relive his whole life twice over to be free of the anger. There’s something familiar in the way he catches it here.

There’s no outside in the labyrinth of his memories, but he hopes he’s not in too bad of a situation in reality. He can’t fight the first spike of fear that he’s been killed and this is the afterlife, but he knows it’s not. The Pit is buzzing in his ear to much for this to be the end.

He needs to get the memories to release him. Then he can go back to his body and try to salvage whatever situation it’s gotten him into. If he’s killed somebody, he’s going to be in so much trouble. At the very least, the Bats are too well trained to let it be them.

Bruce is the key to this. He turns his head to look at the shape by his bed. Jason had been fourteen in this memory, still in the first years of high school. He sighs.

The noise wakes Bruce. That hadn’t been how it’d happened in reality, but he can feel the facts changing around him like a dream. On the night he’s remembering, it’d been a raspy cough to wake Bruce, and he’d come awake in the careful way of Batman.

Here and now, he only yawns. His face is kind when he sees Jason. He’s missing some lines that came with age, has some lines that come with smiling. It doesn’t seem a fair trade.

“You alright, Jay?” he asks.

The nicety makes it easier to Jason to discard the moment. It makes it more clear this isn’t real. Bruce isn’t particularly kind to him these days.

“Let me go,” he says.

It’s not an order, not like the kind he knows he’s capable of. Easier doesn’t mean easy, after all. He’s comfortable now, even in the throes of a remembered flu. At least for right now, the sickness is only temporary. It isn’t some aspect of himself, intrinsic in the same way as his heart.

“What do you mean?” Bruce asks. There’s almost a laugh in his voice. “You can’t do much of anything right now. Can’t exactly beat up a cold, can you?”

Jason laughs. It turns to a cough.

“Oh, yeah? Watch me,” he says. “Besides, aren’t you worried about getting sick? I’m pretty sure having Batman out of commission is worse than just missing Robin for a week.”

He freezes after he says it. He’d accidentally slid back into the memory. That’d been what he’d said that night. Then Bruce had replied with—

“I’ll manage. I’m not going to leave my son alone all night because I’m scared of a few germs.”

Jason screws his eyes closed. It’s a little more obvious why he’d stopped the memory here those other times. That hurts more than he’d expected.

“You’re not real,” Jason says. “Knock it off.”

Bruce sounds wounded. Another aspect of the dream; Bruce would never sound so hurt where Jason could hear him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks. “Come on, Jas—”

“Enough!” Jason shouts. He’s panting. “You’re a memory. You’re me. Lift up the blanket so I can go. I need to know what’s happening in the real world.”

He hears Bruce moving. When Jason opens his eyes, he finds Bruce is looming over him. Only that doesn’t apply yet. Bruce only loomed in the beginning, then again at the end. In the middle, in this memory, he only stands over him. There’s something sweet in the expression on his face.

“Alright,” Bruce says. “Anything you want.”

Jason looks at the far wall and clenches his jaw. He can’t reply. If he does, he might get back on the tracks of the memory.

In reality, Bruce had stood and brushed the hair off his forehead. He hadn’t been wearing the gauntlets, and the brush of overheated skin against his own had been comforting. Bruce had told him that he loved him, then left.

This Bruce doesn’t bother. He gets only the sensation of the blanket being pulled away, then he’s falling into an ocean of green. He breathes through the sickness it brings and pretends it has nothing to do with the memory he’d just left.

* * *

The cave is full, but there’s none of the liveliness it should have brought. Stephanie is in the corner being brought up to speed by Tim. Damian is back in the cave, in a pair of a pajamas that’d been a gift from Dick. He’s lurking near Alfred and pretending not to be hiding from Bruce. Cassandra is alternatively trying to calm down Dick and watching the feed intently.

Dick’s angry voice approaches Bruce again. He looks to his side and sees Cassandra is taking another turn staring at the screen. Bruce breathes evenly.

“Why didn’t you think to tell him the Joker was out of Arkham?” Dick asks.

It’s the seventh time he’s asked tonight. Once again, Bruce answers. He needs to ally himself with Dick. He’s the only person capable of controlling the mood of the Cave effectively. As long as he’s upset, things will remain tense. Tense people make mistakes.

“It wasn’t prudent,” Bruce says. “Talking to Jason about the Joker is a risk—”

“Fuck, Bruce!” Dick exclaims. “Then tell me, at least. I could have done something about this.”

“I’m not going to debate this,” Bruce says. “It was a decision. I made it.”

He’s trying to keep his temper. That’s why he doesn’t shout when he turns to look at Dick and sees his eyes glittering with tears. It would be a tactically unwise move to hurt Dick any further. That’s the only reason. Anything else would be improper leadership.

“He’s your s—”

“Be quiet!”

He doesn’t recognize he’s moving until it’s done. He’s got his hand in a bruising grip around Dick’s shoulder, his other fisted by his side. Moving without realizing it is a dangerous thing in a person with Bruce’s training. But Dick doesn’t look scared. He look despondent.

“Please,” Bruce whispers. He’s aware the rest of the people in the Cave are looking at them, but he ignores it. “Please, Dick.”

His voice is hoarse in his ears. Gone too long without talking, it has to be. There’s no alternative.

Dick throws his arms around Bruce. He’s crying in that way he does, silent tears that are only noticeable for the way they wet the side of Bruce’s neck. He freezes for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Dick says. “I’m just—I’m so sorry, Bruce.”

Bruce releases his grip on Dick’s shoulder and wraps his arms around him in turn. It’s the tactical decision to comfort him. It helps to hide the way his own hands are shaking. Low blood sugar, perhaps.

“Awake,” Cassandra says.

Her voice is urgent. Bruce spins on his heel. He doesn’t know what she means at first, but it eventually clicks. The furious thrashing of the Lazarus Pit has finally stopped. Jason is back.

* * *

His shoulder hurts desperately. That dislocation hadn’t been helped by… whatever he’d done while he was under the influence of the Pit. It’s the sort of deep, radiating ache that means two months off while he lets it heal. That’s the best case scenario. If he has another episode of Pit Madness, he’s looking at a lot worse.

Time to go over the catalog again, since he’s lost an unknown amount of time. Still tied up, but he’s got one leg free. That’s new. His ankle is hurting like he’d kicked his way out of the rope, so he’s going to assume that’s what happened. He’d always had pretty good legs. He’s no Dick, but who is?

This time, he’s not alone. It’s Scarecrow again. Jason doesn’t know what happened to the Joker, but he desperately hopes it was painful. Hopefully fatal in an irreversible and slow-acting way, but he’s not going to get his hopes up. Besides, he’s got more important things to imagine. Scarecrow has a hand behind his back, and Jason needs to figure out what it is.

“Finally back, are we?” Scarecrow asks. “Interesting little show you put on.”

Jason rolls his eyes. He’s got to work double duty at being arrogant after whatever he’d done while he was under. Good thing it comes natural.

“Am I supposed to be giving you notes?” Jason asks in turn. “A little dramatic for my tastes, but good effort. Next time, try a monologue from _Hamlet_. Polonius might be a good fit.”

“I rather miss your incoherent screaming,” Scarecrow says.

“Yeah, but that’s only because you don’t get my jokes,” Jason replies. “Don’t worry about it, we can’t all be smart.”

Scarecrow brings his hand out, and it’s his helmet. It’s pristine. That means they knew better than to touch it. Shame.

“I have a proposition for you,” Scarecrow says.

“Sorry, you’re not my type.”

Scarecrow holds the helmet a bit higher like Jason hadn’t spoken. “If you call in the Batman, I’ll let you go. It’s him I want.”

Jason rolls his shoulders. This restrained thing is starting to lose its luster.

“No offense, but you’re not his type, either,” Jason says.

He doesn’t even pretend to consider it. Not happening, no way. Besides, it’s not like Bruce isn’t going to figure out where he is. Jason's probably got Babs in his system right now. He's just counting down until the cavalry appears.

Scarecrow smiles. “That’s fine. I don’t mind doing a little convincing.”

* * *

The camera only barely picks up the gas that fills the room. It definitely doesn’t get the vents that it comes from. Whatever it is, Crane is out of the room before it happens. That’s concerning. A formula he hasn’t yet built an immunity to is dangerous.

“Gas?” Jason shouts from his chair. “Look like I was right from the beginning. You’re losing your touch, asshole.”

Bruce watches carefully as Jason inhales the gas. He doesn’t hold his breath, instead taking short and shallow breaths. Keeping it from getting too deep into his lungs. Not a bad strategy. Not the sort of thing Bruce had taught him. He tries not to think of where he learned that lesson.

The entire Cave watches transfixed as the gas begins its work. It’s more potent than usual to kick in so quickly. Jason’s too well-trained to show more than the beginnings of it, though. The only sign they get is a moment of quickened breathing, a shake of his head to either side, and then he’s still.

Bruce looks at Jason’s face. He’s placid, completely unmoving. More peaceful, even, than he is in sleep. Even then, there’s a furrow between his brows, the restless movement of his eyelids. In fact, Bruce has only seen him this peaceful once before. Less blood now, but Jason had looked like this when he’d—

Compartmentalize. Please, compartmentalize.

“Oracle, progress,” he asks.

“I’m having trouble getting it any more precise than Burnley. Without him contacting us, I’m not going to be able to get an exact location.”

Her voice is shaky. She remembers the gas well enough. She’s the only one of them besides Bruce to purposefully dose themselves to get an immunity. Too vulnerable as the Commissioner’s daughter for anything other than defensive measures.

“What are our options?” Tim asks.

He’s commandeered a screen of the computer and is working in tandem with Barbara. The question, though, is for the rest of them. He’s involving them to keep them from rehashing old ideas independently. It’s a smart move. It’s a move Bruce should have made.

He has no response to it. All he can manage is staring at Jason. What is their plan with Batman that they’d risk kidnapping Red Hood? The entire thing is an endgame strategy. Whatever it is they’re going to do, Scarecrow has to believe it’s going to win this war. Otherwise, he wouldn’t risk angering Gotham’s most deadly vigilante.

The sound of the door again. Jason twitches. It’s not a flinch, not exactly, but it should be. Bruce recognizes the aborted panic of fear gas. He watches Jason start up his breathing again.

“No ‘hello’?” Joker asks. “I’m hurt. And after that little show you put on earlier, too. I think that counts as second base for people like us, don’t you?”

Jason shudders. His eyes snap open and he stares at the Joker approach. Bruce stares with him.

The Joker, when the camera finally picks him up, has a crowbar in his hand. Bruce turns away from the screen. Alfred is looking, horrified. Tim’s typing has doubled in speed, and he’s still finding time to dart his eyes to the surveillance. Dick is looking only at Bruce.

“Are you…” Dick begins.

He doesn’t finish. Tim takes over.

“You’re compromised,” he says. “You’re out of commission until somebody else can get Hood.”

Bruce whirls around. He knows he looks furious when Tim shrinks back, but he doesn’t back down. If Bruce was in the right state of mind, he’d be proud of that. He’s not

“Absolutely not,” Bruce says through gritted teeth.

Tim looks past Bruce’s shoulder. Whatever he sees there sharpens his gaze. He turns back to his keyboard as he’s answering. He’s efficient, not even letting an argument derail his work.

“Black Bat and I will be the ones to deploy when we get a location,” he replies. “We’re the only people with both the skills and in any condition for an extraction.”

“You’re not going,” Bruce dismisses. “Neither of you. This is my responsibility.”

“No, it’s not,” Tim says. His eyes are flying across the screen. He leans back when he sees something begin to load. “It’s a trap specifically designed for you. If Cassandra and I get caught, the only thing they have is more leverage. If you’re caught, they don’t need any leverage at all. We all know what happens to hostages there’s no need for.”

Bruce sways where he’s standing.

“I have to get to him,” he says. “It has to be me. I can’t leave him again.”

Nobody has much of anything to say to that.

* * *

The Joker is making slow circles around the chair Jason’s strapped to. He knows it, even if he won’t open his eyes again. He can hear his footsteps, hear the whooshing of the crowbar in his hand.

He can’t look. He knows it’s coming, knows he’s going to die. The gas is potent stuff.

“So,” Joker began, “do you remember that game we played all those years ago?”

Jason is trembling. Even the Pit has retreated in fear. His shoulder is aching.

“Backhand or forehand?” he continues. Jason can imagine the mock-pout on that garish face. “It wasn’t too complicated for you, was it?”

He gets only a moment’s notice before the Joker swings the crowbar. He can hear the way it whistles through the air. He’s behind Jason, whose eyes are still squeezed shut, so he doesn’t see it coming.

The strike hits the side of the chair instead of him. The metals ring against each other. It doesn’t do anything to cover Jason's shout the instant before it makes contact.

The Joker cackles. Jason pants. He’s really starting to feel lightheaded.

Backhand, forehand, backhand, forehand, backhand, backhand — to keep you on your toes — again, forehand. Again and again and again and again and again and again and again and a—

He’s going to die.

He opens his eyes. He’s in the warehouse again. Even the air is the same, hot and dry in a way Gotham never manged. He looks to the windows, but there’s only dirt. It’s his coffin, he’s buried in this place. He’s in hell for killing Felipe Gonzales, and isn’t that funny?

“I have to get some of this gas for myself,” Joker says. He finishes the circle he’s walking around Jason and stands. “Pretty funny guy, that Scarecrow. Who’d have thunk it?”

Jason looks the Joker in the eye. He’s absolutely going to die.

“Gonna get you,” Jason says. “Batman.”

Joker brings a finger to his chin. “Now where have I heard that before?”

He brings the crowbar to Jason’s chin, uses it to tilt his head back and forth. Jason moans at the contact. He might throw up.

“Listen, little bird,” Joker says, “the big, bad Bat didn’t get you last time, and he’s not going to get you this time. Which too bad, so sad, but there’s a silver lining.”

“Don’t,” Jason says.

It’s a murmur. The Joker continues like he hadn’t heard anything at all. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe it was funnier to ignore him. You never knew with the Joker.

“No bomb this time,” Joker says. He sounds gleeful. “We get to have fun for as long as we want!”

* * *

They all watch as Jason starts crying. He doesn’t cry like Dick, quiet and hurt. It’s great, heaving breathes, sounding as angry as he is sad. It's something Bruce had trained out of him in the early days. The littlest things would send Jason into furious sobbing. He remembers pinning Jason and getting nothing but curses and crying in return. It’d been funny then, watching his face get red from effort, then embarrassment. Those aggravated tears had been the only time Jason had ever seemed his own age.

It’s not funny now.

Stephanie’s the first person to bow out. She checks her phone and makes an aggrieved sound.

“I’m not going to watch this,” she announces. She starts looking around for her things. “I’m heading out.”

Bruce can't look away from the screen. Joker still hasn’t hit Jason, but that seems to be worse. He looks to be enjoying the tension more. He’s hitting the chair again, trailing the crowbar across Jason’s exposed skin. The tears are getting worse.

“Not a chance,” Bruce says without looking away. “You’re at risk.”

“No, I’m not,” she answers. “If I was at risk, it’d be me in that chair. Not him.”

Tim sucks air through his teeth. “Steph, don’t say that.”

Bruce gets the impression of stillness out of the corner of his vision like Stephanie is waiting for him to turn and look at her. He doesn’t, and eventually she starts shuffling around again.

“It’s true,” she says. “Old Robin, check; dead Robin, check; infinitely less likely to kill everybody involved, double check. They don’t know who I am. I’m good to go.”

Bruce does turn then. He fixes her with a hard look.

“Now isn’t the time for jokes, Spoiler,” he warns.

She shakes her head. Now she’s the one ignoring him. She has a wide-eyed expression.

“No joke,” she replies. “I’m being serious. I’m not a Bat. Independent contractor, and I’m clocking out for the night.”

Tim starts up again. For the first time since he’d shown up earlier, his typing stops.

“Steph, seriously,” he tries. “We need to stay together.”

“No, you all need to stay together,” she says. She’s starting to look around a little frantically. “Again, I’m not a Bat. I’m a Brown. I want to go give my mom a hug instead of watching a coworker get tortured.”

“‘Coworker?’” Dick asks. He sniffles. “Come on, you were both Robin. You’re a little closer than that.”

“We’re really not,” she says. “I’m not allowed to talk to Jason because he’s so dangerous. I’m not allowed to patrol Crime Alley because we might run into each other. I’m not even allowed to be in the Cave on the same nights as him because I’m not allowed to know all the dark family secrets. I don’t want the first words I say to him to be ‘oh, by the way, super cool watching you relive your most traumatic memories in HD.’”

Bruce steeples his fingers. Joker swings the crowbar again. This looks to be the first one that’s going to make contact. It’s aimed for Jason’s hurt shoulder. At the last minutes, the Joker checks the speed and only just taps the injury. Jason screams like it’d been hit full-force.

Everybody in the room flinches. The only exceptions are Bruce, who’s still watching with perfect stillness, and Stephanie, who drops into a crouch with her hands on the back of her neck. She rubs the tense muscles there for a moment.

“Fuck!” she shouts. The sound is explosive. “I can’t do this anymore. Where’s my fucking backpack?”

“Back,” Cassandra says.

She’s halfway away from the computer, but she’s stopped on her way to Stephanie. There’s something tender in her expression. Stephanie looks over her shoulder and sees she’s been wearing her backpack the entire time. Explains why she’d been looking so hard. She laughs humorlessly.

“Thanks,” she says. “I’m out.”

Tim gets up from the computer, but Bruce’s words are faster.

“You leave right now and you’re out. For good.”

“Bruce,” Dick reproaches him.

Alfred makes a sound of displeasure, but no more. Coming from him, it might as well be a castigation. He still can’t look away from the screen. He watches Jason shake and there’s no room in his head for anything else. Still he can’t undo the spatial awareness trained into him. He can’t help but see the way Stephanie wipes angrily at her eyes.

“He’s a good person,” she says. “See you never.”

The sound of her footsteps trails off into nothing. The tension in the room has gone up another increment. Dick comes to Bruce and puts a hand on his shoulder. He can’t feel it through the suit.

The Joker makes a comment that’s lost under the wail Jason lets out at the sound of his voice. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. Bruce inhales.

Tim goes back to his computer. Whatever he sees, tension suddenly radiates off him. He opens his mouth to speak, but Barbara cuts in before he can.

“I’ve got something,” she announces. “It’s the best I can manage.”

Bruce feels the weight of his attention move to her voice filtering in through the speakers. Whatever she’s discovered, Tim looks mutinous at being interrupted. Bruce can’t bring himself to care.

“What is it?” he demands.

He can hear her frustration before she even answers.

“I can open a comm line to his helmet,” she says. “Incoming only, just to tell him to play along. The way the codes are put together is so sloppy that I can’t risk anything else.”

“Why not?” Dick asks.

Barbara sighs. “He’s got too many kill switches. I could try to get through, but I don’t want to risk it. At best, I kill the wiring and the whole thing become useless. Worst case, I trip the wrong failsafe and blow it up.”

“Red Robin,” Bruce says. “Do you see any other options?”

Barbara manages to be offended. “If I didn’t find anything, Tim definitely isn’t going to be able to.”

Tim looks at his screen. His eyes are flying across information. Whatever it is seems to upset him even further. He leans back and crosses his arms. Whatever he wants to say, he discards. Finally, he settles on something that’s only just bordering on unprofessional.

“She’s right,” he says. “Oracle knows best.”

His jaw is clenched. Bruce is utterly unconcerned with ruffled feathers.

“Whatever issue you two have, leave it,” he says. “This operation has no room for infighting.”

That doesn’t seem to settle Tim. If anything, it upsets him more. Regardless, he’s the most even-tempered of them. He sighs, rubs his temples, and then begins to frantically type again. Once again, he’s impressing Bruce.

“Got it,” he says. “Don’t worry about me.”

Again, it seems pointed. He subsides, though, and Barbara doesn’t have anything to say about it. That’s enough for the moment. Bruce looks at the screen for a while longer. The Joker seems to be winding down. He’s moving towards the door.

“Patch me through after the Joker leaves,” he says to Barbara.

“They’re still going to know it’s happening,” she replies.

It doesn’t quite cover the way she’s typing to make it happen. Tim scoffs.

“He knows that they know,” he says. “It’s a feint of a feint. He’s going to pretend to drop sensitive information, expect them to disregard it, then act on the plan he leaked. We’ll send Nightwing out as a distraction, make it seem like he’s the one looking.”

Bruce nods at him.

Barbara shouldn’t be able to see the movement, but she does. She makes a considering sound.

“Might as well,” she says. “It’s the best we’ve got for right now.”

* * *

The Joker leaves the room, but Jason can’t calm the frantic beat of his heart. All said and done, it’s embarrassing how quickly he broke. All that training, all those years, and he’s still just that same terrified teenager.

He’s hunched over, still guarding himself. The worst part it is that the Joker hadn’t even really done anything. Made some noise, jostled his shoulder a bit, but nothing serious. Nothing Jason hasn’t walked off in better times.

Regardless of how obvious it is, this is clearly not better times.

Injuries that are long healed, that hadn’t hurt since the Pit, are aching. His head, his ribs, his arms, his legs. Every place that crowbar had hit him back then is radiating pain. It’s not real, and that’s obvious even in the sensation, but it might be.

It’s the fear of the pain. The memory of it is layered over reality to make him fear its return. Crane had outdone himself.

He’s so keyed up that the crackle of the comm in his helmet activating tears another scream out of him. It’s woefully undignified.

“Red Hood, report.”

It’s Bruce. Jason starts crying harder. This is worse than the Joker. He’s in hell; Bruce is there but can’t get him. This is a nightmare he has twice a week.

“Red Hood,” Bruce snaps. “I asked for a report!”

Jason is shaking so hard that his teeth are chattering. He sounds like those fake teeth the Joker leaves everywhere. Were there any in the warehouse on the night he died? He opens his eyes to check. He’s still there. He looks around.

The floor is clean, the whole place is clean. The only things littering the floor are bodies. It’s his mom, Catherine, that he sees first. The only mom he’d care about seeing dead.

Next is Dick, neatly bisected. Tim, head caved in, and Damian, lying in a puddle of his own blood, are on either side of him. Jason jerks his head away.

He sees Bruce then. Bruce looks the way Jason must have looked on the night he died. He’d read the autopsy report out of masochism and obligation and remembered what those injuries must have looked like. It’s what’s painting Bruce right now.

He’s only half in the cowl, the way Jason thinks of him best. He’s not Batman, but neither is he the vapid socialite. He’s between the two. The sweet man that’d threatened Superman with death for flying around too quickly with Jason in his arms. Jason closes his eyes again.

“Can’t,” he mumbles to himself.

Batman sounds impossibly more terse. “Your helmet. I need you to call for me. I will extract you.”

Jason makes the mistake of opening his eyes. He sees the ruined mouth of Batman’s corpse finish talking. He moans and squeezes them shut once more.

 _Trap_ , he tries to say. “Tr’p.”

He doesn’t want to open his mouth anymore. He has to look like Batman right now. A talking corpse.

“I’m aware,” comes the answer. “I’m going to come”—there’s a harsh intake of breath—“Nightwing's going to save you.”

Bruce isn’t understanding. It’s not a trap to come, it’s a trap he’s already fallen for. It’s a trap that has him dead on the floor and the rest of the Bats with him. Jason hunches in on himself.

“Dead,” Jason says.

The monosyllable answers have got to be getting old, but Bruce doesn’t let it show. Maybe he’s got some more patience in the afterlife. That and a more profound intuition. He seems to get what Jason’s seeing.

“I’m not dead,” he says. “I’m fine. We’re all okay. I told you, I’m going to come get you. I need to you use my call-sign so I can get a location.”

He can’t catch his breath. He shakes his head.

“Me,” he says. “I’m dead. Again. This is the Pit.”

There’s silence. He was right, then. This _is_ the Pit. That little hallucination had been a kindness. In reality, there’s nobody here. Not even a friendly voice. He’s desperate suddenly. He can’t do it all alone again.

“Come back,” he calls out. He opens his eyes. There’s nothing around him but toxic green. The water fills his lungs, but he can talk through it. Shout, even. “Please, don’t leave me this time! Please!”

“I’m here,” Bruce says immediately. He’s hoarse. “I’m here. Scarecrow used his gas on you. This isn’t real.”

Jason tastes blood from where he’s biting his cheek. It heals over as soon as he’s done. The gas doesn’t do that. It can do a lot, but it can’t heal you. That’s all Lazarus Pit. The hallucinations are unfamiliar, but maybe that’s what a second dip does. Maybe this is all still part of his first. Maybe this is hell, like he’d first thought. He remembers thinking Gotham was hell, once.

“Please, help me,” Jason says slowly. “If it’s not real, then—”

The door slides open and he goes silent.

* * *

Jason chokes off the sentence as soon as the door opens. There’s a crackle to let Bruce know the comm line to Jason’s helmet is closed in the same instant. Bruce wants desperately to press his hands against his eyes to relieve the burning, but that’s not feasible.

Besides, it hasn’t been long enough for him to be experiencing physical symptoms of sleep deprivation. He’s probably just experiencing a sympathetic reaction to Jason’s pain. When he thinks of it, the burning gets worse. That means he’s probably right.

For some reason, Jason is chewing the inside of his mouth bloody. Bruce can see the muscles of his jaw working, see the line of blood from the corner of his mouth. Bruce doesn’t understand.

Dick is already at his bike by the time he thinks to check on him. He gives Bruce a two-fingered salute when he sees his attention has finally gotten to him. He’s got his domino mask on, and there’s only the slightest limp from where he’d strained his ankle last week.

“Don’t take any unnecessary risks,” Batman says.

Dick brushes off the concern with an easy grin. Now that he’s back in the Nightwing uniform, there’s no trace of the vulnerability from earlier. He’s cavalier and careless when he swings a leg onto the bike.

“Don’t worry about me. Just running distraction.”

It’s the right answer. It’s what they’d all agreed on. Dick’s going to get onto the streets. He’ll make sure to be seen once or twice, which will lend credence to the plan they’d admitted to, that way Bruce’s eventual appearance will be more surprising.

It’s not a plan Bruce likes.

He’s doing what he has to, but even he can admit he’s not firing on all cylinders. It’s a gamble, and he doesn’t like gambling when the stakes are this high. He doesn’t like gambling at all, despite the thousands Bruce Wayne spends at casinos.

He listens to Dick zoom away and looks back at the camera feed. It’s Scarecrow, but he hasn’t said anything to Jason yet. For now, he seems content to watch the frantic breathing he’s inspired. When he finally speaks, his voice is dryly amused.

“How far you’ve fallen, Red Hood,” Scarecrow says.

Jason cringes. He doesn’t beg, not now, but he starts moving again. Even with one leg free, he’s not doing anything productive. Even the minute movements of his shoulders that meant he was working at the knots stopped with the introduction of the fear gas. He’s helpless in there. Bruce shakes his head and doesn’t realize he’s doing it in time to Jason’s frantic rocking.

“You know, Hood,” Scarecrow says. “You were right earlier. You’re dead.”

Jason bites the inside of his mouth again. He still doesn’t seem to notice the blood. After, his shaking gets worse.

“There’s nothing for you. It’s going to be this, forever. Nobody can save you,” Scarecrow continues. “Only I can end it. And you need to do something first.”

“Open the comm line,” Bruce says. He’s almost breathless. “Now.”

“B, no,” Barbara replies. Her voice is shaky. “He’s baiting you. If you fall for it, he’ll know something’s up. Batman doesn’t fall for things like this.”

“I,” Alfred begins. He clears his throat and starts again. “I have to agree with Ms. Gordon.”

Scarecrow continues. He looks to be enjoying himself. Bruce’s fists clench and unclench with the rhythmic creaking of leather.

“Call for the Batman,” Scarecrow says. He sound so reasonable. “He’s the one I want.”

Jason finally speaks. His teeth are pink in his mouth. There’s something to be said about all of his injuries so far being self-inflicted. It doesn’t make Bruce feel better.

“He won’t,” Jason mumbles. “Not coming. He’s dead. All dead.”

Scarecrow makes a thoughtful noise. “So that’s what you see. No matter, I can bring him back for you. He’ll rescue you.”

Jason screams again. He starts to thrash in earnest, but stops the instant his shoulder is jostled. Even Scarecrow seems shocked by the reaction.

“Don’t!” Jason shouts. “It’s worse that way! Just let him stay dead!”

Damian makes a sound behind him. When Bruce turns to look, he’s swaying on his feet.

“Master Damian,” Alfred says. He’s sunk deep into a chair, but he springs to his feet at the sight of Damian. “Please, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Don’t tell me—” Damian starts.

He looks away from the screen instead of finishing. He’s shaking nearly as much as Jason. Alfred reaches him and rests a hand on his shoulder. Damian clutches convulsively at it.

“You need rest,” Alfred insists. “All this after a patrol…”

Damian shakes his head. “I can handle torture.”

He looks at the stairs and the shaking grows worse. Alfred understand the problem an instant before Bruce. He doesn’t want to be alone.

“At least let me check you over in the med-bay,” Alfred says. “Besides, this is all proving to be a bit much for my old heart. I need to feel useful, even if only for a moment. Can you indulge me that?”

It’s the right thing to say. Damian gives his Bruce a look over his shoulder. It’s only an instant, but there’s something hard in it. He’s taking care of Alfred because Bruce is struggling.

“Of course, Pennyworth,” Damian says. His voice is still trembling, but it’s settled by the purpose when he starts leading Alfred away decisively. “Honestly, you should consider retirement at your age.”

Alfred laughs. The look on his face is profoundly fond and profoundly pained. They leave to the far reaches of the cave. Bruce exhales tension he didn’t know he was carrying.

He turns to look at Cassandra. She’s standing next to Tim now, listening to something he’s saying in a voice too low for Bruce to make out. Whatever it is, she shakes her head emphatically. Her reply rings out clear.

“Trust,” she says. She taps his chest, then his head. “Trust.”

Tim sighs. He notices Bruce looking at them them. Whatever relief he’d gotten during his chat with Cassandra returns in an instant. He gives a solemn nod and returns to his work. Cassandra rolls her eyes and walks back to the screen.

“News?” she asks.

Bruce looks at the screen. Joker is once again making circles around Jason. This time, the smile on his face is even more wicked.

“No,” is the only answer he has.

They watch as the Joker finally seems to tire of teasing Jason. The first hit is fast and vicious. Upper arm on his uninjured side. Not hard enough to break anything, but Jason shrieks nonetheless. He tries to throw himself away from the hit, but he can’t go anywhere. It only jostles the dislocated shoulder again. He’ll be lucky if it ever heals correctly.

“Now, what was it?” Joker asks. “Clock’s ticking.”

Bruce doesn’t understand. He turns to see if it’s making any sense to the others. Cassandra has a hand curled over her stomach protectively, but her face is unreadable. Tim has blanched.

“Forehand,” he says at the same time as Jason.

Bruce finally gives into the impulse to cover his eyes.

* * *

“Stop, please!” Jason shouts. “I’ll call him!”

The Joker seems almost disappointed. It’s hard to tell, though. There’s a million Jokers, spinning out into infinity. They each have a part of him with them, each of them playing that same game with him. He doesn’t wait for confirmation, for a promise. He’s senseless. All he wants is an end.

He wants

He wants Bruce to save him.

“Dad!” he screams. “Please, Dad!”

* * *

Bruce breaks very quietly. He knows he’s crying by the way his face is wet, but there aren’t any other signs. His breathing doesn’t change, his shoulders don’t move. He’s made of stone. It could be a wonder of the world, the crying statue.

He can’t took at Tim, can’t look at Cassandra. He can only look into the darkness behind his hand and continue to cry. On screen, the Joker sighs.

“Ugh, get it together,” he says. Bruce finally looks up. The image swims, but he can make it out clearly enough. Joker throwing his hands up in frustration. “Scarecrow might pop a stitch if I keep it up.”

He walks back to the door in a parody of sadness. Jason doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s gone. He only carries on crying and begging and calling out for him.

For Bruce.

For Batman.

“Barbara,” he says.

He can’t say more. He sounds punched-out. There’s a faint crackle of the line opening again instead of a response from her. Bruce has nothing to say for a moment. He watches his son go into hysterics. He can’t think of a word.

“You have to call for Batman,” he finally says. He clears his throat. “Hood, please.”

Jason only loses himself more heavily to the terror and pain. His eyes are wide and sightless, but he still tries to angle himself closer to the helmet. Closer to Bruce’s voice.

“Dad,” he cries out. “Please, help me! It hurts. It hurts so bad, and I’m already dead. I don’t want to keep dying.”

He’s losing coherency fast. When his wildly spinning eyes chance over the camera, Bruce can see something is wrong. Something more than the expected. Jason’s left eye is entirely red. A burst blood vessel. More importantly, there’s a thin line of blood tracking down his face from that eye. It’s following the tear tracks already there.

This is much more potent than Scarecrow’s usual mix. Jason’s the only person with the height and weight to compete with Bruce, but the additional mass isn’t helping him metabolize it any faster.

He looks like one of the rats Bruce had found in his early days of investigating Scarecrow. Back when he’d been Crane. He’d found those animals in the remains of a test lab, blood leaking from every orifice.

Overdose. Textbook, too.

Bruce stands from his chair like he’s been shot. He’s swaying, his hands heavy on the console before him.

Two things happen very quickly after that. The comm cuts with a sound like static popping, and a calm voice begins to speak. It takes him a moment to recognize the words. _The Man in the Iron Mask_. It's an audiobook coming from Jason’s helmet. Tim leans forward to look at his screen. Whatever he sees doesn’t worry him. He takes a shaky exhale. Cassandra follows his lead and relaxes. Bruce feels the odd man out. He’s raw like a wound.

“What’s happening?” he demands. “Did they cut the connection?”

Barbara comes through the speakers. Her voice is thick.

“No, it was me, B,” she says. She takes a steadying breath. “You almost said his name. He doesn’t need his identity leaked. I set his helmet to play its last saved audio file.”

He doesn’t acknowledge what she’d said. She’s right, and that only makes him angrier.

“Patch me through,” he orders. “Right now, Oracle.”

She sniffles. Her voice is more sure of itself afterward.

“You’re going to slip up if I do,” she says. “It’s not going to be hard to connect the dots between the second Robin calling you ‘Dad’ and Bruce Wayne losing a child at the same time he died. They might have already done it.”

He looks at his son on the screen. Jason’s listing back and forth. The book seems to be helping, but not by much. His eyes are closed again, and tears are still leaking from beneath his lids. There’s a thin trail of blood on both sides now.

“I don’t care,” Bruce says. Tim gasps. “Please, let me talk to him.”

Cassandra walks over. She grabs either side of his face and directs him to look at her. The severity he finds is sobering. She shakes her head, then points to Tim.

“Family,” she says. Bruce understands, but she insists. “Danger. Everybody.”

She takes a step back. She probably knows what he’s going to do before he does. Still, she’s only just out of range when he lifts the seat he’d been sitting on and throws it as far as he can. He pounds against the console, beats his fists against the cold stone floor. He can’t comfort Jason because he doesn’t know how to do it as Batman.

It’s impossible to do as Batman. Batman is fear and discipline. Bruce, the father to the man dying in the chair, is a different person. He can’t be connected to the Red Hood, to the second Robin. To do so would mean the exposure of everybody else in this makeshift family he’s created.

There’s nothing but pain within him. He continues until he feels her hands on him again. She’s gentle but strong. There’s no denying the force of her grip. She pulls him into a hug. It’s different than with Dick. She doesn’t need anything from him. She never has.

Dick’s a bundle of emotion, so obvious in the depths of his feeling. Cassandra is the opposite. There’s a placidity to her that belies what’s beneath. She hugs him, and there can be no denying that this is for him right now. He stops his fury and only breathes silently with her.

He only looks up when Tim shouts. There’s a focused expression on his face, and Bruce can’t help but hope. It’s nearly more painful than the despair.

“Barb,” Tim says. His fingers continue on the keyboard. “Your plan might have just found something.”

“How?” she asks. She doesn’t wait for an answer before she’s making an excited hum. “You’re right. Is she going to be safe?”

Tim exhales. There’s the remnants of anger there, but he shakes it out of his fingers before he replies.

“Yeah. I was worried about it, too,” he says. “I sent Dick after her. He’ll be there in two minutes.”

Bruce can’t see the screen from where he’s collapsed on the ground, Cassandra still hugging him. He tries to compose himself. It doesn’t work, not like it should, but it’s better than it’d been before.

“What’s happening?” he asks.

Tim turns to look at him. There’s a rueful twist to his mouth.

“It’s Steph. Barbara and her cooked up a plan for her to do some recon in Otisburg. So far as we could tell, that’s where the signal was coming from.”

“You sent her out there alone?” Bruce asks. His heartbreak turns cutting at the news. It’s almost back to the fury of before. “Do you know the kind of danger she’s in?”

Tim clenches his jaw. “I do. That’s why I was so mad. It’s also why I pushed so hard for Nightwing to run distraction. He’s backing her up.”

Bruce slowly gets to his feet. Cassandra’s assistance is invaluable in it.

“Barbara,” he says flatly.

There’s not a trace of weakness in her voice when she answers him. For all that the night has tried her, she’s never been one to doubt her plans.

“Steph was right,” she says. “If they knew who she was, they’d have gotten her first. I trust her to stay out of sight. She’s good, Bruce. You can’t keep babying us. We can do good work. We are.”

Bruce looks at the screen. Jason’s slumped to one side. The blood has made it to his chest, helped along by the appearance of more coming from his nose. He wants to say that he can’t baby any of them, that Jason is the best example of what happens when he tries. But he remembers Alfred earlier tonight. ‘He’s your child.’ He bites his tongue before he can disobey the man who raised him again.

In the silence, Stephanie’s voice is deafening. Bruce cringes when her comm comes through, only half from the noise. He remembers what he’d said to her. What she’d said to him.

“I got a location,” she says. She’s panting. “Sacred Heart. Room 357.”

Bruce’s heart beats harder than it should. Tim is all business.

“Are you with Nightwing?” he asks.

“Just got here,” Dick answers. “Harley’s here, too. I’m not taking her in.”

“Why?” Bruce asks.

He doesn’t care, not really, but he still feels like he’s missing something. Room 357, room 357, room 357.

Stephanie is the one to answer. She does it like it’s obvious.

“She’s the one that told me. Minimal fighting required.”

Bruce exhales hard. “Thank you.” He hesitates here, but there’s nothing beneath him at this moment. Besides, she’s had it coming a long time. “And I’m sorry, Spoiler. You did good work.”

He hears the roar of an engine. Her voice, when it comes after that, is casual.

“No problem, B-man,” she says. “But you better buy me one of those motorcycles after this. I’m leaving my mountain bike to ride with Nightwing, and that thing cost me, like, a ton.”

“Understood.”

“Wait, really?”

“Spoiler, Nightwing,” Tim cuts in. “Return to the Cave. Black Bat and I are going to proceed with the next phase.”

He cuts Stephanie’s comm before she can continue. He stands from his chair and stretches his back. It makes a popping noise Bruce can hear from where he is.

“I’m going,” Bruce says.

He reaches back and pulls the cowl back up. He’s thrumming with energy now that he has a goal. He looks at Jason again. He has to get there, and soon. He won’t be late again. Cass, however, isn’t having it.

She pushes away from him with a stern shake of her head. Bruce looks at her. He doesn’t understand. Tim’s the one to translate.

“I wasn’t lying earlier,” he says. He grimaces. It looks apologetic. “You can’t be on this op. We can’t afford any mistakes. You’re not at the top of your game, and that’s all we have time for.”

Bruce opens his mouth, and then Barbara cuts in. Whatever animosity had brewed between them because of this plan has blown away now that they’re executing it. Tim shoots a relieved smile at the speaker and pulls his own cowl up.

“B, we need you in the cave to synthesize an antidote,” she says. “I managed to get the filter analysis running on the helmet, and there was enough gas caught in it to get a sample. We can get an antidote together if we hurry.”

“Tim,” Bruce orders. He’s still walking purposefully to his car as he speaks. “Get on that.”

“No,” Tim replies.

Bruce comes up short. Emotionally, he’s drained. He still manages outrage.

“We don’t have time for arguments,” he says. “Do as I say.”

“No,” Tim says. “ _You_ do as _I_ say. You can’t handle this right now. Are you going to be able to leave without Jason if things go south?”

“What are you—”

“No, you won’t,” Tim says. “I will. You’re a risk right now. And you forgot your belt.”

He looks back to see that his belt is sitting on the floor. Right where he’d been with Cassandra when she’d comforted him. He turns. She’s already at her bike. Her eyes are flinty and unapologetic.

“Back soon,” she says.

Her bike roars to life and she’s out of there before Bruce can react. Tim darts past him and straddles his own motorcycle. Tim might be onto something if he’s let both of them get by him like that.

“Be safe,” Bruce says before Tim can go.

Tim’s expression is softer than Cassandra’s had been. He even manages a crooked smile.

“See you soon.”

* * *

Jason’s pinned beneath blankets and feverishly sweating. He must have a cold. Sweating it out, Alfred would call it.

He looks around the room. Bruce is sitting at his bedside, hunched in the Batman suit. That makes it just before dawn. There’s an IV in his arm and his eyes feel gritty with sleep.

He coughs weakly. Bruce comes awake in an instant, body primed for violence. It’s only a moment until he settles. He meets Jason’s eyes. They’re unspeakable tired.

“This real?” Jason asks.

His throat is so dry that it hurts to ask the question, but he has to. He’s too comfortable for this to be the life he’s been leading. Bruce huffs a laugh.

“It is,” he replies.

“Cool,” Jason says.

It seems woefully inadequate, but it’s all he’s got. There’s a large blank spot in the middle of his memory. He remembers being tied up, remembers Scarecrow and the Joker, remembers the episode of Pit madness — and wasn’t that embarrassing — but nothing past that. Obviously it all worked out. He sighs. He’s never going to live down needing the family to save him. That reminds him.

“What happened to Scarecrow?” he asks. Then, he rolls his eyes. “Back in Arkham?”

Bruce nods. “What do you remember?”

“Nothing past the gas. What was that stuff?”

Bruce’s face is grave. “A concentrate. He blackmailed Ivy into filtering out the strongest components, then used half on you. He was saving the rest for me.”

“Doesn’t seem like he got you,” Jason says.

“He didn’t. Cassandra locked him in the room we found you in and dosed him with ten percent of the total amount. He’s still suffering from the effects.”

“And I’m not?”

Bruce gives a sharp-edged smile. “Only enough antidote for one person. My mistake.”

Jason laughs. It hurts his chest to do it. Good to know Bruce could be counted on to do something fun. They sit in silence for a moment longer before Jason sighs. Time to get to the bottom of it.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he asks. “About the Joker?”

Bruce flinches. Honestly flinches. It’s bizarre to watch.

“He escaped,” Bruce says eventually. “Harley’s on the loose, too, but not with him.”

Jason closes his eyes before he says something that’ll just upset them both. He’s comfortable right now, and he’s not in the mood to go tearing out IVs delivering precious painkillers.

“Is he going to Arkham, too?” he guesses.

Bruce shifts. His gaze goes to the window, to the sun only just starting to peek over Gotham.

“Oracle is expanding operations,” he says. "Thinking about bringing in some help."

It’s a non-sequitur but Jason lets it slide. A second Oracle is big news.

“Who’s it going to be?” he asks.

Bruce shrugs. “Tim, maybe. Could be you. You’ve got the foundational skills for it.”

Jason sighs and looks down at his shoulder. He can’t see it beneath the blanket, but he had a feeling something like this was coming.

“So how fucked is it?”

“You’ll never be able to grapple with your right arm again. Leslie said it’d be a miracle if you ever throw a punch without another dislocation. The joint’s too damaged,” Bruce says.

Jason looks at the ceiling. He remembers tracing shapes in it when he was a kid. He’d done it after his first night as Robin, too amped to sleep after taking off the costume.

“Fuck,” he says.

Seems fitting.

Bruce leans forward in his seat. There’s a distinctly businesslike set to his face.

“We have options,” Bruce says. “Technology not available to the public, skills beyond human—”

“Keep it,” Jason says. He turns to look at Bruce. He even gets a laugh in at the shocked expression on his face. “Maybe it’s time for me to hang it up. I’m getting too old for all this.”

Bruce gives a half-smile. “You’d be surprised.”

“Maybe I don’t want to die for this shit,” Jason counters. He knows it’s going to sour the mood before he says it, but he can’t stop himself. “Again.”

The smile slips from Bruce’s face like it hadn’t ever been there. The tension builds. Jason can’t help but feel antsy. He doesn’t like being pinned down in the manor, and he especially doesn’t like being pinned down in front of Bruce. The edges of him are too sharp to be here.

“I’m sorry, Jason,” Bruce says.

It derails the pit of dread building in Jason’s stomach. It derails everything but the most basic of thoughts. He scrambles to reply, to say something. Once again, it’s the harshness that’s easiest.

“For what?” Jason replies. “And be specific. There’s a lot.”

Bruce only bows his head. “Everything.”

Jason stares. He stares and stares until it’s clear Bruce isn’t going anywhere, isn’t doing anything but sitting there and looking at the floor.

“How bad was it?” Jason asks.

It’s almost the same question he’d asked earlier, but there’s something different about it now. The connotation has changed. The way Bruce finally looks up at him with watery eyes is enough of an answer. Still, Bruce speaks.

“You were dying,” Bruce said. “There was a feed. They were broadcasting it to me, and I was watching you die.”

It’s Jason’s turn to flinch. There’s a lot to say, a lot to feel, but he settles on blinding fury. At the very least, it’s not the Pit. No, it’s all homegrown Jason.

“You watched all that?” he asks. He tries to struggle up. “Did you enjoy it? What the fuck is wrong—”

“Jason,” Bruce growls.

His eyes are wild. The beginnings of tears should stop that rage from being so arresting, but it only magnifies it. It makes him something more terrifying than Batman. Jason can feel himself getting ready to answer it with worse, to say things just to hurt. It’s why they don’t work, him and Bruce. They’re too similar, too different.

But he deflates when those tears spill over. Suddenly Bruce is crying and falling to his knees at his bedside. Suddenly Bruce’s hands are hovering over his blanket-clad body. Suddenly Bruce has shrunk into being a man.

“I love you,” Bruce says, like it’s simple. Like any of it could have ever been that easy. “You’re my son. You don’t understand that love, because I didn’t get it until you came into my life. You let me be your father, and I failed you. In every way that mattered, I failed. And you don’t know that. You think it was you because it was easier for me to let you believe that. It was easier than recognizing that I was nothing.

“My whole life, I’ve only ever wanted to be the kind of man my father was. He was perfect, and I tried to live up to that example. But he was my father. And I'm yours. I should have listened to you, been what you needed instead of what I wanted. If there’s anything I want for you, it’s happiness. It’s safety. And took all of it from you.”

Jason is back to looking at the ceiling. He shouldn’t be able to tell Bruce is crying without looking. His breathing is too good for mistakes like that, his training too advanced. But he can. He can hear the sniffles and the gasps. His own eyes are burning.

It should be nice. It’s all he’s wanted since he crawled out of the pit. He just wanted Bruce to love him the same way he had, the way Jason needed to be loved. But it’s here, and it’s nothing. It’s nothing because Bruce is crying and Jason doesn’t even remember what’s brought it on.

“Why?” is all he can ask.

Bruce must be out of it because he can’t follow Jason’s train of thought.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Why now?” Jason clarifies. “And don’t say it’s because of what you saw. Don’t fucking say it because you shouldn't have seen it.”

“Because I would have lost you again if I’d been alone,” Bruce answers thickly.

Jason turns. He shouldn’t have done that because the tears spill over when he does. He’s crying and Bruce is crying and they’re staring at each other. Bruce continues.

“I almost failed you again,” he says. “And all of my plans would have been worth nothing, the same as last time. And you would have died wanting love that you already had. That you couldn’t ever lose.”

Jason finally scrunches his eyes up and starts crying in earnest. The bed is too small, and his limbs are too heavy, and his heart is too dark, but he’s a child again. Whatever the exact proportions of drugs, exhaustion, and incredible trauma; Jason breaks.

He wants.

There’s a black hole where his heart should be, a void that can’t ever be full of affection. It’d been with him always, from his first memories. In the beginning, when he’d survived off the scraps of care he’d been able to scrounge from his mom, he’d understood it. He’d thought it would get better one day.

When he’d come to the manor and found more love than he could have imagined, that’s when he’d become sure there was something wrong with him. It didn’t matter the fond smiles from Alfred or the ruffled hair from Bruce, there was no satisfying it. It was so scary it’d brought him to tears.

Once, he’d been training with Bruce and been pinned. Even that awkward leg-lock and chiding voice had felt good. Jason had started crying, cursing they way he always did to hide it. He’d known then and there that it was never going to go away, but that he’d have love for the rest of his life. That no matter how bottomless his heart was, there was affection even in those spars they’d shared.

“I love you,” Jason gasps out. "Dad."

Bruce surges forward to hug him as best he can. It all falls into the hole in Jason's chest, into the yawning emptiness at the core of him.

“Don’t leave me again,” he begs. “Please.”

“Never, Jay,” Bruce mumbles into his hair. His breath his hot and his tears are wet, and it’s the best feeling Jason can remember in years. “I’ve got you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Listen... I don't know what's wrong with me either. I had a mighty need for Jason crying and also repairing his paternal relationship. It was thereabouts that I realized I had a word processor and a dream. Let me know what you think !
> 
> 'The Man in the Iron Mask' was the inspiration behind the title, which is a quote from the book. I'll include it here just so you can get the full effect.
> 
> “I am strong against everything, except against the death of those I love. He who dies gains; he who sees others die loses.”  
> -Alexandre Dumas


End file.
